


the kind of story we are

by Mikkal



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: AU - Alternate Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asexual Character, Asexual Newt Scamander, Canon Relationships, Drabbles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gen, Injury, Scene Switch, friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 01:39:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8602141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikkal/pseuds/Mikkal
Summary: In which Newt goes first in the Death Cell and, somehow, changes the course of the story, and, possibly, history along with it.





	1. the kind of story we are : part i

**Author's Note:**

> Newt Scamander is asexual and you'll have to pry that from my cold, dead hands, and even then you'll have a hell of a time at it.
> 
> This does not erase his relationship with Tina or their future child(ren). I am asexual and I know how to write asexual characters. Newt is asexual, damn it.
> 
> Also, as some of you know, never become my favorite character.
> 
> I also have the screenplay and access to wiki, I am drawing all my information on that plus my own headcanons.

Tina’s throat burns, but she tries her best not to cry as they’re led down the black corridor to the bone white Death Cell. She’s pretty sure she’s unsuccessful, her cheeks wet and her eyes stinging.

  
“Don’t do this - Bernadette - please -,” she pleads, tempted to dig her heels in. The footsteps of Mr. Scamander and Henrietta echo behind her.

  
“It don’t hurt,” the woman - once a friendly co-worker, now her executioner - says reassuringly.

  
The room opens up, a chair floats over a flat lake of deep, black liquid. Tina knows what’s in there. No auror can make it past training without being told what they execute treason and other heinous crimes with. Tina shifts, wanting to cover her ears, just to hide away from what’s to come, but her shackles stop her cold.

  
A wand presses to her temple as tears finally come freely and recognized. She can feel the magic rummaging around for that happy memory, the one that will lull her into believing that all will be all right. Except -

  
“Wait.”

  
Tina freezes, stiffening. The wand falls away from her and they both turn to see Mr. Scamander staring at them, jaw set and shoulders in a tight line. He meets her gaze head on, for what is probably the first time the entire day they’ve know each other, and opens his mouth - only to close it a second later.

  
Her heart sinks.

  
Bernadette and Henrietta exchange shrugs out of the corner of her eye. Her executioner turns back to her, gripping Tina’s arm tightly in her hand.

  
“No, wait,” Mr. Scamander says again, softly, resounding. There’s a finalization to his tone. “I’ll go first. ‘s only fair, after all. I got you all in this mess.”

  
And suddenly her heart is beating too fast, she’s breathless and her knees buckle every-so-slightly.

  
“I can’t let you do that,” Tina says desperately, scrambling for anything to keep this on her. She is - was - an auror, she is first and foremost a protector of the innocent and this man is innocent, he should not be the first death of innocence. “Is that really fair? Now I get to watch you die, only for me to follow with the fear and the guilt.”

  
Mr. Scamander - Newt, she should really call him Newt at this point - just blinks owlishly at her, like he hadn’t thought of that. Which, of course, the man is impulsive only because he really has no care for himself or other humans. It’s all about his precious creatures.

  
It’s rather endearing, sort of noble, and definitely annoying.

  
The guard grunts. “Get on with it, will ya? We don’t got all day. Take the man first,” he tells Henrietta.

  
Bernadette pulls Tina back from the edge of the Death Cell ‘waters’ and Newt steps up, brushing against her. Something light drops on her coat sleeve, making its way behind her until she feels twigs touch her hands. The bowtruckle. Pickett.

  
Bowtruckles are good at locks, she suddenly remembers. She read it once, in a storybook once upon a time.  
“Okay, let’s get the good stuff out of you.”

  
The tense lines of Newt’s body relax as the silver memory is wound and pulled from his temple. He seems to sag a little, like a puppet who has had some of its strings snipped away.

  
Henrietta casts the silver memory into the lake. The dark liquid ripples and a memory forms. It’s Newt, Tina would recognize that face anywhere at this point, but this memory has him about a decade younger. He’s waving his hands, laughing. There’s no scar on the webbing between his thumb and pointer.

  
“ _Theseus, stop! I know how to get a job.”_

  
“ _Do you now? That’s a first_.” A man who looks clearly related to Newt pulls him into a headlock. Tina can’t help but smile at the laughter that bubbles up from the young Newt. The Newt she knows is quiet, disarming. “ _Says the boy who got expelled. Good luck trying to work with the beasts you like so much. You need a license. Let me help you. You’re my brother_.”

  
The Newt here and now has a fond smile on his face, tears in his eyes.

  
“Theseus,” he whispers, voice shaky.

  
Henrietta smiles at him, fixed and stiff. “Don’t that look good. You wanna get in? Huh? Say hi to your brother. How long has it been?”

  
Newt swallows. “Sev-Seven years.” He takes a step forward and is soon guided by Henrietta to the chair that’s floated over to them now.

  
There’s a soft click and Tina nearly jumps, having completely forgotten about the bowtruckle. It’s the sound of the second lock on her shackles. Pickett clambers off her hand, to her coat, and then finally onto Bernadette’s uniform.

  
The memory shifts, swirls into a change that shows an even younger Newt than before hovering over a cauldron with an attractive woman by his side. They’re laughing together, she’s shoving him over the bench and he goes flailing to the floor. She laughs even harder, doubled over even as she sticks out a hand to help him up.

  
Newt pops up, his hair wild and his eyes squinting in laughter. He doesn’t seem hurt. It’s just a happy little memory.

  
He’s in the chair as it hovers back over the liquid, his gaze on the memories as they cycle through happiness - various creatures Tina recognizes and doesn’t, Newt smiling at them, playing with some, comforting others.

  
“Your turn now,” Bernadette says, tugging on Tina, just as the chair starts to lower Newt down.

  
Tina panics. That’s the only way of describing it. Auror training did not go very far into teaching physical fighting, their focus on magical, but Tina didn’t grow up along with her sister only to not learn how to throw a good punch.

  
She whirls around and lands a good right-hook across Bernadette’s face. The woman goes down, hard. The guard shouts, halfway to getting his wand, when Tina kicks him in the stomach, almost too faraway to make it count. But he bounces off the way anyway and Tina hits him again in the face. He slams against the wall this time, his hand flying up and his wand goes soaring, a spell dying on the tip.

  
“Hey!” Henrietta shouts, yanking out her wand. Tina dodges the spell less-than-gracefully.

  
The guard’s wand falls into the liquid. The memories still and then everything changes: the grayscale turns dark, the memories shadowed, the liquid ripples and undulates. It bubbles, boiling up, and, in some cases, starts growing up and up.

  
Tina can’t help but glance at the memories, can’t help but be curious. There’s one of Newt stumbling upon a giant bird chained tightly to the ground, feathers dulled and beak cracked, blood puddling under one leg. A bright flash of a spell hits Newt in the back and he goes flying.

  
There’s another of a little girl tucked in the corner of a barren room, shaking and crying. Newt is kneeling a few feet away, hands behind his back and two men standing on either side. He’s saying something too soft to pick up, crying, leaning towards the little girl. But she keeps shaking, a high pitch keening sound rising from her. Then - suddenly - shadows overtake her and she lashes out with a fist before disappearing all together.

  
The obscurus, from African.

  
“No!” Newt cries in the present. “No! I can help her. Please!”

  
“Mr. Scamander!” Tina shouts, shoved back by Bernadette. The executioner goes for the alarm, but Tina tackles her legs. “Mr. Scamander!”

  
He’s too transfixed by the horrible memories whirling this way and that, tears on his cheeks, hands tight around the armrests. The chair is only a could inches from the liquid now.

  
Tina takes a deep breath. “ _NEWT_!”

  
He jerks, gasping, his head snapping up and his eyes wide. Newt coughs once then leaps precariously to his feet. “Tina!”

  
Newt pulls something from his pocket and _snaps_ something out of it. A little green ball soars through the air before it unfurls to reveal a purple underside like the mix between a butterfly and a plant, it’s head a skill of a cat or a weasel and completely flesh-less.

  
It knocks right into Bernadette and swoops around and around in a circle over the ever growing taller liquid.

  
“I’m going to jump!” His voice trembles and shakes, but despite the tears still shining on his face and the red of his eyes, he looks determined.

  
Tina just stares at him in disbelief. “Are you crazy?”

  
Newt shakes his head, clambering to the armrest as the liquid eats through the seat with sizzling noises. “I’ll jump on his back,” he says calmly. Almost too calmly if she’s being honest. “You don’t have to catch me. Just move out of the way.”

  
She shuffles back, heart thudding high in her throat.

  
He takes a deep breath and bends his knees to jump - then hesitates, his form wobbling. He glances down at the liquid where some of the memories are still playing. Theseus back, blood in his hair and arm blackened. The girl from the happy memory, so angry and out of control furniture whips around her. The Sudanese girl, screaming in pain as her own being rips her apart.

  
“Newt!” Tina calls. “Please. Come on! Newt, jump!”

  
Newt screams as he jumps, leaping on the creature’s back. Tina throws herself forward to catch him. They go crashing back, Newt’s whole weight taking her by surprise. She lands on her back, the air knocked out of her in one big whoosh. He angles his body so he hits the ground as well instead of using her as a cushion.

  
Tina shoots up at his moan of pain, crawling closer. He’s curled up on his side, knees close to his chest.

  
“What happened?”

  
He grasps at his shoe and she glances at it, gasping. He hesitated too long, his foot caught by the liquid as he jumped. Half his shoe is gone, his sock, the skin underneath blistering and black. The patch is moving, slowing moving up to eat the rest of his skin.

  
“No, no, no,” she mumbles, hands fluttering up and down his arm uselessly.

  
Pickett climbs onto her shoulder, making strange yet concerned noises. Newt smiles at the bowtruckle, strained and pain filled, but a smile nonetheless. Of course, mustn’t worry his precious creatures.

  
“I’ll be okay, Pickett,” he says breathlessly. “Come on, we need to go.” He makes a clicking noise with his tongue and the swooping creature flies towards him, curling back into its cocoon straighten into Newt’s hand. “Tina, we need to go.”

  
“Right.” She shakes her head, gathering herself. This isn’t going to be easy, Newt is significantly taller than her. “Let’s go.”  
Tina grabs his arm over her shoulder and grabs at his belt. It’s indecent in the best of times, but it’s necessary.

  
They move as one, and Newt whimpers in pain at the first step.

  
With a heavy heart, Tina grits her teeth and marches on. The next whimper is muffled, like he’s biting his cheek, and she wonders if he’s ever been seriously hurt before. He has to have been at least been hurt on the surface, he’s got scars on his hands, he works with dangerous beasts, he even got attacked when he was with that chained up bird. But something tells her, this injury is a lot worse.

  
“Come on,” she whispers, encouragingly. “One more step.” They take it. “All right, one more.”

  
They stagger and stumble their way into the basement corridor just as aurors appear, slinging spells. The first one hits a pillar. Tina flinches back, Newt yelps at the sudden movement.

  
He groans as he reaches into his coat and once more releases the flying creature that had saved him. It blocks spells and crashes into aurors, knocking them down and out for the count.

  
“What _is_ that thing?” she asks.

  
“Swooping Evil.”

  
“Well, I love it!”

  
He laughs, a gasping, breathy thing. “Hey!” he calls out, making that clicking noise again. “Leave his brains! Come on. Come on!” The Swooping Evil glances up from the auror it’s crawling over and comes at Newt’s call.

  
Tina can’t help but giggle - possibly a little hysterical at this point.

  
Footsteps sound in the staircase and she nearly crashes into Queenie and Jacob. Her sister is clutching Newt’s case in her hands, expression open and excited.

  
“What happened to him?” is what Jacob says at the same time Queenie exclaims: “Get in!”

  
“No time,” Tina says. “No time. Get in.”

  
Jacob goes first. Tina waits impatiently for him to make it to the bottom, clutching Newt close. He’s trembling in her arms.  
When he makes it, she urges Newt to go next, holding on to him as he takes the first step. He nearly falls down the stairs, but she holds onto him tightly, keeping him steady, Jacob grabs onto his coat and helps Newt to the floor of what is apparently a crowded, cluttered shack.

  
She follows immediately. The case snaps closed, the locks click shut, and suddenly the world seems so much small, yet so much bigger, than it was moments ago.

  
Jacob’s set Newt up in a plush chair that’s seen better days. The magizoologist forehead is beaded with sweat, his eyes bright with pain, his breathing short and shallow. The magic’s eaten it’s way to his ankle now, his whole foot raw and bloody. There’s no visible bone, though, that’s good.

  
“What do we do?” Jacob asks. “What happened to him?” he repeats.

  
Tina scowls. “One of the darker sides of magic and MACUSA.” She goes to the messy table to the side, rummaging around for medical supplies. All she finds are things creature related. “Where’s your medic kit, Mr. Scamander?” she asks, impatient. “Surely you have one with all the trouble you get into.”

  
He barks out a laugh. “Newt,” he answers. “Newt’s fine. It’s in the cabinet above you. Red case.” He groans as Jacob starts tearing at the leg of his pants. “My favorite pair,” he bemoans, head rolling. His eyelashes flutter dangerously.

  
“You best stay awake,” Jacob says, clutching at Newt’s elbow. “Youse gonna hate it when you wake up.”

  
Newt grins at him, eyes at the ceiling. “Vial. Drawer to your left,” he slurs to Tina. “Says ‘P.T.’ on it. That should do it.” He grimaces, squeezing his hands into fists as his whole body shudders.

  
Tina lunges for the drawer, yanking it open and finding it neatly organized, so much unlike his desk. Alphabetical even. She grabs the ‘P.T.’ vial and pops it open. It looks like water and nothing happens when it’s exposed to air.

  
Hm, she expected a little more.

  
But now what? She could just pour it on his foot, or she could soak a washcloth in it and drop it over his foot instead. Which would hurt the least? Or should she focus on which one would be the most effective?

  
Newt is all but passed out now, face still twisted in pain. Completely ignoring Jacob’s advice. The no-maj looks nervous and worried, looking like he’s trying his hardest not to reach for Newt.

  
Washcloth, Tina decides. Keep whatever this is on his skin longer. If it’s suppose to heal, then maybe that will make it work better.

  
She finds a relatively clean one and spreads it out on a clear section of the desk before pouring the contents of the vial on different points so they connect and soak the cloth almost thoroughly.

  
“I don’t know if this is going to hurt him more or not,” she warns Jacob. “Um, be careful?”

  
Jacob nods solemnly, and doesn’t back away. Instead he finally decides to hold onto Newt’s shoulders, like he’s holding him down. “Go ahead, Miss. Tina.”

  
She takes a deep breath and almost closes her eyes. Quickly she settles the cloth over his foot, wincing when he suddenly yells out, thrashing. Only Jacob’s grip keeps him down, Tina pushes down on his thigh. Smoke curls from the cloth, she imagines she can hear a sizzling noise.

  
Newt makes a choking noise, a wounded sound in the back of his throat. Tears drip down his cheeks, his hair plastered across his forehead. She pushes it back, grimacing at the heat radiating from his skin.

  
It takes a minute - a too long minute that stretches out to years - until the smoke stops. She lets it sit for a little longer, worried that taking it off too soon will ruin everything. Then, the wait becomes too much, and she peels the cloth off.

  
Tina sighs in relief at the sight of mostly-whole skin. He’s still a little raw, it looks like he’s dragged his foot along carpet, red and oozing, but the dissolving of his foot as stopped and some of the layers of skin has repaired itself.

  
She drags out the medic kit and finds a potion for healing to slather on his foot, checking for any pieces of his shoe or sock that may still be stuck in the wounds.

  
There’s a cot in the corner, piled high with blankets and pillows like a little nest.

  
“I’m honestly not surprise,” Jacob says, sounding amused. He helps Tina pull off Newt’s coat and unbutton his vest and his sleeves.

  
Pickett chatters in her ear, making her jump. She completely forgot the bowtruckle was there.

  
“Hold on a second,” she tells the creature. “Let us get him comfortable first, then you can check up on him.”

  
She’d never seen a bowtruckle before today, and now she’s talking to one. What has he life become?”

  
Together her and Jacob manage to get Newt onto his cot without hitting his foot against anything. He sighs when they let him go, curling around a large pillow, burying his face into it. She’s surprised he can even breathe, but he lets out a big, heaving breath in argument to her thought.

  
Tina holds out a hand, palm up, close to his face for Pickett to clamber down her arm and eventually cling to Newt’s ear. His nose twitches as he rubs his face against the pillow for a brief moment. Pickett isn’t dislodged, it just climbs into his hair.

  
She laughs, covering her mouth, at the adorable sight.

  
“He should probably be the one to show you most of the creatures in this case,” Jacob says, sounding shy. “But would youse like to meet the mooncalves? They’re adorable. The first ones I fed.”

  
Tina smiles, still watching Newt sleep, feeling light and airy for the first time in a long time. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. the kind of story we are  : part ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Bog!

Newt wakes to niffler nose in his ear, which isn’t an entirely pleasant feeling if he’s being honest.

  
He groans and grabs for her, pulling her around to cuddle against his chest. “Stop it, Bog,” he mumbles. “‘m trying to sleep.”  
Bog snuffles at his face, slobbering all over his cheek.

  
“You’re ridiculous,” he informs her. She just chatters in response.

  
For a moment he just lays there, eyes closed and just _feeling_. His whole body hurts, but no more so than his foot. Newt wiggles it experimentally - and immediately regrets it. He bites his cheek to muffle the scream threatening to burst from him. Bog squeaks in pain from being squeezed so tightly.

  
He instantly relaxes despite the fire still in his veins, rubbing a thumb over her head. “S’ry,” he slurs.

  
The memories come flooding back then, his foot throbbing in time with his heart beat. Bog rubs her muzzle along his chin as she burrows her way closer to his throat to become a comforting ball of warmth. Pickett chitters in his ear, tiny pricks of its limbs on his temple.

  
Newt sighs. He doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t want to face the pain or the outside world. He just wants to pack up his case and take off to Arizona.

  
But then he remembers Dougal, and the fact one of the occamy is missing.

  
(And Tina, and Jacob, and Queenie, and that weird feeling he gets from Mr. Percival Graves. The man’s word choice is just... _wrong_.)

  
The spells are quiet, there’s no buzzing in his head telling him there’s someone extra in his case - only that two someones are missing. Must mean they’re all outside now and he can’t help be relieved to be alone. Too many people in his space makes his skin itch. Bringing in Jacob almost set him over the edge, but the man was so amazed by the beasts that Newt felt more at ease with other people than ever.

  
Tina’s amazement, not fear, at the Swooping Evil raised up the same feeling.

  
“I should go,” he mumbles into Bog’s fur. “Who knows what trouble Dougal’s getting into.” She doesn’t answer, just snores.

  
He heaves himself up, groaning, and takes a second to stare at his foot, glistening with salve and completely raw. If the Phoenix Tears only healed it part way, it looks like, then he really doesn’t want to think about what MACUSA uses for their executions. Something tells him a healing potion or spell won’t do much for it as well.

  
Now to figure out how he’s going to make it from here to up there, and from up there to wherever Dougal and his newest escape artist occamy is.

  
Newt sighs. Oh, bugger.

  
Being injured on the job was easier when he didn’t have twenty other things to deal with other than the latest creature caught up in the darkness and horrors of the human world.

  
Somehow he manages to make it from his cot to the bottom step after casting a cushioning charm on his foot. Pickett refuses to leave him, as per usual, Bog scuffles away to her nest and admire the few things she managed to keep from that jewelry store. (He didn’t have the heart to make her leave everything behind.)

  
The stairs seem so much more now. Before, when he was injured, he just stayed down here with the creatures until he was healed. Though sometimes he wouldn’t be able to hide away until the pain became too great to actually move, so that’s probably a factor.

  
He grits his teeth and grips the railing, then _pulls_ himself up one step at a time. Pickett clings to his ear despite the fact he’s told it that tickles. It’s a nice distraction from the pain and the sweat sliding down his neck.

  
Bloody hell. How is he suppose to help Dougal and the occamy like _this_?

  
Newt flips open the case, the cool air of the night almost freezing against the sweat on his face. The stars are bright even with the New York skyline. With the contrast he feels like he’s going to float away.

  
“Mr. Scaman - Newt, what are you doing?”

  
He smiles softly as Tina hurries over and helps him out his case. She grabs him by the arm and leans him against the ledge of the roof top they’ve apparently made their stop at.

  
Queenie and Jacob stare at him from inside a pigeon coop. Her eyes are wide, her mouth open in a little ‘o.’ She probably feels or senses the pain he’s in, and the determination to push through it for the two creatures still out there. Jacob looks a little disapproving, Newt’s not sure how he feels about that. Ashamed? Maybe just a little.

  
“I need to find the rest of my creatures,” he tells Tina after a too long pause. He’s out of breath, his chest is tight like someone’s squeezing it between their hands.

  
Tina _tsks_ at him. “While I agree with you - we need to keep Graves from using them as a scapegoat for the Obscurial.” She still hasn’t let go of his arm, her grip a grounding influence. He feels less like he’s going to float off. “You still shouldn’t be on your feet.” Her eyes flicker down to where he’s keeping all his weight on one foot to keep the other off the ground. “On your _foot_ ,” she corrects. “Come, there’s a seat over here.”

  
Newt sinks gratefully into the chair. It’s still a little hard to breathe and his hands are trembling. He clenches them together, hoping no one saw that. Too much time with people, he guesses. Either he needs practice, or he just needs to stay away from them.

  
“There’s only two still missing,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound as breathless as he feels. “An occamy and Dougal, my demiguise.”

  
Tina crouches next to him, looking up with wide eyes. He squirms a little in his seat. “Dougal?” she asks.

  
He nods, then winces when he remembers one very important detail. “Slight problem is that, er, is that he’s invisible.”

  
She laughs. Actually _laughs_. Looking delighted. “Invisible?”

  
Newt can’t help but smile back. “Yes - most of the time...he does…”

  
“How do you catch something that -.”

  
“With immense difficulty,” he says jokingly, though completely serious. That makes her laugh again and, suddenly, he realizes he’d like to hear her laugh more.

* * *

 

 “Why aren’t you an auror anymore?”

  
Tina clutches her glass tighter, her knuckles bleaching white. She expected this question much earlier, possibly back when she tried taking Newt in the first time only to be dismissed so rapidly and coldly. He’s a very curious man, that much is obvious, how he managed to keep that question to himself for so long seems to be a miracle.

“Ah, you don’t have to tell me,” he says quickly. “‘t’s none of my business. Sorry.”

  
She likes how he says ‘sorry,’ the accent making the word sound so much more sincere. (Or she’s been listening to Queenie’s less-sincere, mischievous ‘sorry’ for far too long).

  
Tina sighs and glances up, not surprised to see him glancing away. Such a nervous man. She wonders if something happened - with the girl from his memories, or his brother who he hasn’t seen in seven years. Perhaps from the dangers he’s thrown himself in for creatures as taken its toll?

  
Or maybe this is just his personality, a part of her argues.

  
The dim of the bar matches the beat of her heart. It makes her feel detached, not here. Perhaps that’s what gives her the courage to say:

  
“I attacked a New Salemer.”

  
Newt looks at her in surprise. This will scare him away for sure, she thinks. He’s already shifty around people. Let alone someone who attacks a no-maj.

  
“Mary Lou, the woman preaching outside the bank yesterday?” He nods. “She has three children. None of them hers. The boy, Credence, she like to beat him. I found her doing it one day and I attacked her in front of some of her followers.” She takes a sip of her drink to soothe her suddenly dry throat. “They all had to be Obliviated. It was a huge scandal.”

  
Newt’s staring at her with something strange in his eyes, his lips curling into a smile. Admiration, she hopes. It doesn’t look like fear.

  
“Why did you come to America, Newt?” she asks in return. She coughs to clear the lump in her throat. “Can’t be for puffskins.”

  
He ducks his head, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Should’ve done my research more,” he mutters. “Wasn’t expecting to run into so many curious witches.” He glances up at her, that smile still there. He fiddles with the cuff of his sleeve, pulling at the threads. “I rescued a Thunderbird that was being trafficked in Egypt.” A _Thunderbird_? Oh my word. “I want to take him home, to Arizona. I was only suppose to be here about half a day.”

  
Egypt. That must’ve been the memory she saw. He was attacked for that!

  
Tina opens her mouth to ask about it more, only to be interrupted by her sister hissing:

  
“Teenie. He’s here.”

  
She sighs and takes one last sip of her drink before standing. Newt follows her with his eyes, his fringe falling over the side of his face. Then he stands as well, wincing. No matter how many times she tried to get him to stay in his case, he insisted on following. They’re his creatures, after all, under his care.


End file.
